She could barely hold her cigarette. The blaze

At the end of her face. Time ticking.

The heat is getting close. This girl in

Women’s clothing is looking at the stars and then at me.

Her decorated eyes dissolved into an ashen blackness standing still

And she tells me: If nothing can be salvaged, set the whole thing afire to save yourself.

 

I was scared to let her walk away and yet nothing would hold her back.

She had heard all the excuses, all the justifications, had identified all

The masks in her life. She was searching for a face like hers everywhere.

And when she gazes at her own image in the mirror, she fantasises about the

Possibility of shards, that they are always there if you take an action, nevertheless invisible.

jeune_femme_rousse

“Jeune femme rousse” by Paul-Albert Besnard (1849-1934)

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